The One to Die
by Roger Cohen
Summary: Our favorite RENT duo, Mark and Roger, realize how much they mean to one another in this heart-felt drama.


TITLE- The One To Die  
  
SUMMARY-Our favorite RENT duo, Mark and Roger realize how much they mean to one another in this heart-felt drama  
  
DISCLAIMER-Mark Cohen & Roger Davis are characters owned by the incredible bohemian writer of RENT, Jonathan Larson. I have no rights to this show other than to enjoy it entirely. Jonathan, we all miss you and will continue honoring and loving you. Rest in Peace.  
  
Author note: This is my first fic. Please don't be angry if it's not good. Thanks to a very good friend, Lausanne, for helping me get this on here. You're a true friend!  
  
Dear Journal,  
  
Roger's still trying to get that deal with that record company. I don't know what he's thinking. I support him and all, but he doesn't have the drive to successfully run a band. He hasn't since April died. All that he did have was swept away with the loss of Angel and Mimi. Now Collins is goin' down hard. Its just gonna be me and him pretty soon. Then it will just be me. What the fuck am I gonna do once he's gone? He never really talks to me anymore, he just sits on that damn couch and plays his guitar, picking, writing, picking, writing constantly. But he's always here. And by always, I mean ALWAYS here. That's what I'll do. I'll take him out. I'll tell him I found a sweet-ass guitar at the pawn shop and I wanted to buy it for him as a Christmas present with the money Collins gave us last week in the hospital. I'll tell him it's the least I can do since he swiped that picture of Maureen naked from Joanne's stash and gave to me for Hanukah. Wait. I don't know any where to take Roger. I haven't been out to any social place but the Life Café. Fuck, where's the phone, time to call Maureen.  
  
Your Best Friend, Mark  
  
" Hey Joanne, is Maureen there?" Mark asked into the phone, " No I didn't get into your photo album last time I was over. Alright" A few moments went by, "Maureen, its your favorite little Jew, I was wondering if you could tell me where a nice, quiet, social place for me and Roger to go out to on Thursday?"  
  
" What?! Roger's going out?! Oh my god!!!" Maureen exclaimed, "POOKIE, HUNNY, ROGER'S GOING OUT!!!"  
  
"Maureen, Maureen!!!!" Mark yelled into the phone.  
  
"What, babe?" "It's not a sure thing! I have to convince him I'm getting him a guitar or somethin' since he got me that picture of yooooo" Mark stuttered into the phone. He coughed "You and I when we were goin' out. Yea, that's it. So, do you know any place he'd like?"  
  
"Cat Scra~~~" Maureen's voice faded, "Sorry. Ummm. There's a nice little bar I got kicked out of last June for getting a wee bit to drunk and taking off my shirt, and, well.. It's called the 'Lighthouse'. It's on the corner of 13th Ave. C."  
  
" Thanks Maureen." Mark said softly into the phone, "So Joanne is going away on business this weekend.."  
  
"Yeah"  
  
"You want me to come over to you have someone to talk to?"  
  
"Forget it, Mark" With that, Maureen hung up.  
  
Mark opened his door and found Roger in the living room looking out the window. Obviously Roger didn't hear Mark come in or just didn't care because he just kept looking out the window. And as Mark looked a little closer he saw a tear run down his cheek. Mark didn't want to disturb him so he walked out into the kitchen, grabbed a little yellow notepad and wrote down 'Lighthouse'. And as soon as he put the pen down he heard a "smack" in the living room. Mark ran out to find Roger holding his hand, with blood dripping through. Then he saw a huge crack in the window.  
  
"Roger, what the fuck were you thinking?" Mark said he rushed to Roger's side, now kneeling on one knee. "Are you alright"  
  
"Get the hell away from me, Mark." Roger yelled.  
  
"What's wrong, man?" Mark asked, "C'mon you have to tell me!"  
  
" I don't have to tell you shit!!!"  
  
"You know." Mark yelled, "I've been here for you since go knows when. I helped you out when you were screwed up on coke, and after all the shit with.." Mark shut up, " Never mind. I'm goin' on a walk." Mark grabbed his red plaid jacket, and his camera (by habit) and walked out the door saying sorry right before the slam of the door.  
  
Mark walked down to the Life Café like always, shot a gang fight from behind a trash can, and was walking back to the loft when he saw a guy walking toward him. Mark was used to guys walking toward him at night, but this guy was looking right at him, dead in the eyes. Mark knew New Yorkers didn't look at anyone in the eye on the street unless they were looking for trouble. And this guy was. Mark turned to run, but the guy caught the back of his collar and pulled him back. Mark fell onto the ground and the man stood directly about Marks face and pulled out a knife.  
  
"Hey, unless you wanna meet my knife here, friend, I would give me everything on you." The voice was Mexican, "Hmm, I like that watch you have on there, friend. You think I could borrow it for a while?" the man kicked Mark in the side and his glasses fell off onto the ground . Mark clutched his camera and hid it in one of his larger pockets on the inside of his coat. "Now give me all your money. Now!" Mark grabbed a small wad of cash out of his jeans pocket and gave it to the man. "This is all you have?! Little fucker!" the man picked Mark up and started to punch him in the face and threw him onto the ground and started to kick him in the side. Then the headlights of a car turned onto the street and the man spit on Mark and ran away into an alley.  
  
Mark struggled and stood up. "God ." he said and walked three steps before collapsing again. Than after many attempts he got up and started to limp home, every so often falling of having to sit down on a bench. Then after forty-five minutes, on what was once a twenty-five minutes walk he mad it back to the loft. Now he had to climb the stairs up to the top floor. He started and made about ten steps before he had to lay . Then he walked up another few, leaning on the rail as if it were his only way to survive, which it almost was, until he made it to the top, and to the sound of Roger picking at his guitar, although it was very light from his hand injury. Mark opened the door to find Roger sitting on the couch. Mark walked four steps and collapsed. There he laid, his sweater stained with blood with tears all through it, and his face nearly completely black and blue. His blond hair covered with dirt. Roger rushed over to him. Now feeling terrible about what he had said earlier.  
  
"Mark..MARK!!!!!! I'm supposed to be the one to die! Don't leave me like this man!" Roger yelled, crying, "I can't deal with you dieing!" Roger noticed Mark had stopped breathing. This was to much to take for Roger. He took his guitar, snapped the neck across the kitchen counter walked over to Mark sat down by him, hugged him, and weaped these last words " I die without glory, without love, without you." And jammed the sharp end of the broken guitar neck into his stomach. Maureen had tried to call them numerous times that next day until she got suspicious and went to there loft. She opened the door to Mark and Roger on the ground, Roger in an embrace with Mark, and a camera and a guitar neck lying by each other at their feet. 


End file.
